


Ego servo usque ad mortem

by Sigtuna_Yrsa



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-06-26 15:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigtuna_Yrsa/pseuds/Sigtuna_Yrsa
Summary: Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had a sense of duty that went above and beyond, often embracing his own death as a necessity - or was unlucky enough for the death to get close without him even trying.





	1. The Andorian Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise is the property of Paramount Pictures, not mine.

"Crewman?"

"We have heard stories, sir, that it might not be safe." The Security crewmember answered nervously, probably picturing himself as a heap of bloody goo, down on the planet.

"I have heard the same stories. Now get up here," the Chief of Security Lieutenant Reed exasperatedly replied.

Lieutenant Reed had his own misgivings about beaming into a potentially hostile situation, based only on a set of extrapolated coordinates. Coordinates confirmed by several independent sets of calculations, but still extrapolated from data that was not complete. But he was not about to show these misgivings to his subordinates.

_The coordinates are correct_ , he repeated the sentence like a mantra. _Otherwise, this is going to be over quickly and quite messily_ , Reed thought sardonically. He was not squeamish – years with the Section had seen to that, but even the Section was not keen on squishing their operatives into particle stream and then reassembling them when the time and place came. Not yet, anyway.

"Coordinates set?" he asked their Communications officer, who continued to eye the transporter console as if it was going to bite her hands off at any given moment.

"Aye, sir."

"Then energize. Before we change our minds," he ordered, allowing himself to project a small measure of sarcasm into his voice, however unbecoming it was of an officer.

* * *

The re-materialization was a relatively quick process, though it still left something to be desired – at least in Malcolm's opinion. He downright loathed the feeling of lightheadedness it left him with.

The world suddenly tilted and the floor rushed towards him. He didn't feel the need to cushion his landing at all.

A strange lassitude was rapidly engulfing him.

"Malcolm!" he heard Trip shout dimly, almost lost in the white noise that was suddenly filling his ears. There were spots of blackness in his eyes, erratically moving back and forth, obscuring the Chief Engineer's face. Frantic face. Something was wrong.

"Give me your tourniquets! Now!" Captain Archer shouted desperately at the two paralyzed Security crewmen, staring at their immediate superior sprawled on the floor, heavily bleeding. "Tourniquets!"

One of the men broke out of his paralysis, frantically pawing at his arm pocket, drawing out the old-school military-style tourniquet that Lieutenant Reed insisted everyone in the Security and Armory detachments carry at all times.

It slipped from his hand.

Archer grabbed it from the floor, opened it and put it on Reed's left leg above the knee, frantically tightening it and praying to the God that his Chief of Security had not lost more blood than he could afford.

Meanwhile, the second crewman got his tourniquet out and was tightening it on a stump of Reed's right arm, hands shaking, but determined to close off the artery spurt. 

T’Pol was green in the face, looking more than slightly nauseated, but her hands were firmly closed around the other arm, fingers deep in a mangled mass of muscle and blood that used to be the left arm.

The Andorians stormed in, the door hitting the wall.

"What is…" Even the Andorian commander looked momentarily shaken by the carnage he barged in on.

Archer ignored him, gingerly tilting the ashen face of his Chief of Security towards him.

"Malcolm, do you…"

The Andorian commander grabbed him by his shoulder and roughly pulled him back, Archer’s back hitting the rough wall behind them.

"Explain this, pink-skin."

Archer ignored the alien, his eyes riveted to Reed.

Reed’s eyes were half-mast, full of pain and not comprehending what was happening around him anymore. There was more blood making its way from his nose and mouth, light bright red and full of bubbles.

_Merciful God, not his lungs as well._

The moment of quiet had not been timed well.

The whole room could hear the bubbling wheeze that was not followed by laborious inhale. The mutilated body, minutely shaking from shock and pain, stilled.

* * *

The surviving Andorians were never able to describe properly what happened after that. 

The human male, who was held against the wall by Commander Shran, went berserk. He charged the Andorian, incapacitating him efficiently. The other men took down the other Imperial Guardsman – permanently. Same fate was visited upon the rest of the landing party in short order, shocking even the volatile Andorians.

That day on P’Jem, Starfleet earned itself a name among the Imperial Guard.


	2. Silent Enemy

"Pineapple. That's my favorite. How on Earth did you know?"

That heartfelt sentence was several hours behind him now. Currently, he was on his knees, dejectedly heaving into the toilet and praying for the whole ordeal to be finally over with.

_I am not touching pineapple for a few months again_ , Malcolm thought bitterly.

Modern medicine allowed him to enjoy his favorite staple of food – at least most of the time. Even with all the treatments available, his body decided from time to time to reject his favorite food and to remind him of its disapproval.

When the dry heaves that had been plaguing him for some time seemed to abate, he shakily stood up and washed his face under the tap. Rinsing out his mouth repeatedly to get rid of the taste of vomit, Malcolm risked a glance in the mirror, noting the pallor of his face.

_Off to bed with you, Reed. You need to catch a few hours of sleep, or you are going to nod off at your station during your shift_. Despite the Captain's permission to sleep in on the following day as the reward for their performance against the unknown ship the day previous, he had every intention to be at his Bridge shift at 8:00 sharp.

Few shaky steps later, he was laid out on his bunk, feeling as if his skin was starting to get few sizes too small continuously.

The miserable man gently massaged his eyes, trying to get rid of the unpleasant feeling of grit and to find a position in which he could fall asleep.

The crawling feeling was getting progressively worse.

Reed belatedly realized that his breathing was getting progressively raspier and more laborious as well.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position, feeling slightly irritated at himself. _It is the middle of the night, for Lord's sake! I am not calling Phlox to deal with a…_

His sluggish mind registered the swelled fingers.

Malcolm Reed was no fan of the Sickbay. But he was also no fool. He recognized the symptoms of a possible anaphylactic shock – even though it was several years since he last had it and Starfleet Medical believed that the injection treatments should have taken care of the issue quite handily.

He clumsily hit the intercom button next to his bed.

"Reed…" was as far as he got, feeling his throat finally swelling shut and sounding raspy even to his own rapidly diminishing hearing.

The next thing he vaguely recognized was the hard floor of his cabin as it made contact with his body.

* * *

The Communication Crewman on the Bridge frowned at his console – it was very late in the Gama shift rotation and most of the crew was deeply asleep.

_There shouldn't be any com traffic at this hour._

He checked the origin of the call – Lieutenant Reed's cabin. That was beyond strange.

He hesitated. Not many on the crew were well familiar with the taciturn Brit after the few months they spent on their exploratory mission. As far as he knew, the man was running his people in the Armory as relentlessly as any slave driver from Earth's past. But on the other hand, the Armory staff practically worshipped him – and was not shy about making their love and admiration known to anyone willing to listen to their accolades of the man. At the same time, they were very careful to sing the man’s praises where their boss couldn't hear them.

The crewman decided to compromise – instead of calling the man in question himself, he shot a quick text message to one of the Security guys on Gama shift in the Armory and asked them to check on their boss, when making the next round around the ship.


	3. Shuttlepod 1

"Any last words you want me to pass along?" The Armory Officer asked Trip lightheartedly. He was just carrying on with the banter they had started some time ago, trying to lighten the oppressive reality of them standing on the very real brink of suffocating before the Enterprise managed to get back to them.

The pause was unexpected.

Commander Tucker seemed to ponder the question seriously, unwrapping himself from the cocoon of the thermo blanket and hitting his legs several times with fists, trying to get some semblance of blood circulation back, slowly climbing up on the bench.

"Yeah. Tell Captain Archer that it was one hell of an honor serving with him."

Lieutenant Reed was momentously stupefied by the sheer incredulity of that statement, wasting seconds, when the Chief Engineer opened the airlock and started to painfully climb up into it.

"What are you doing?" he all but roared at his nominal superior. _More of a friend now, Malcolm. Don't lie to yourself, you failed at respecting the fraternization regulations in his case a long time now,_ he mentally berated himself.

"We don't know whether or not they saw our little display of pyrotechnics, but either way, this will double your chances," Trip stated matter of factly, whilst visually reviewing the inside of shuttle pod's airlock.

"You are crazy! Now get down from there!" Malcolm roared in earnest this time, scared to witness his superior officer fully planning to commit suicide before his eyes.

"Sit down Lieutenant," Commander Tucker tried to order him.

"If anyone should go up in there, it should be me! You are the Chief Engineer!" he tried to persuade his superior officer, trying for logic this time. _T'Pol would be proud of me_.

"I'm also in charge of deciding who's going into this airlock. Do I make myself clear?" Commander Tucker shouted back at him, his hackles obviously rising at the ongoing argument.

_Psyched yourself up to pulling the trigger, didn't you? And now you are scared that I am going to talk you out of it, aren't you?_ an unwelcome part of Malcolm, disciplined by his years in the Section whispered spitefully. Malcolm repressed it immediately, digging up the phase pistol from its storage compartment instead.

"Commander."

"What are you gonna do? Kill me?" Trip uttered in disbelief, one foot still up on the ladder leading up to the airlock, staring at the other man.

"It's set to stun. I don't want to use it, but I will," Lieutenant Reed threatened his superior.

"Put it down!" The order was delivered in a half-hearted attempt at a commanding bellow.

"Go to Hell!" Malcolm was fed up with this senseless stand-off. _Enterprise needs you more than it does me, my friend. You are not throwing your life away today._

Trip slipped down the ladder, obviously in no mood to shout, but still fighting.

"Stop trying to be a hero. It doesn't suit you." he hissed in Malcolm's face, trying to disabuse him of the notion of them both dying, doggedly trying to wrench the blessing for his harebrained plan from the other officer.

"What would you know about being a hero?! It takes nothing but a coward to crawl up inside there and die, when there are people who depend on you making it back!" Malcolm shouted back at him, pressing the phase pistol into Trip's thigh and pulling the trigger.

The wild blue eyes found his, uncomprehending, showing the ultimate shock at this betrayal.

"The Enterprise needs you more, Chief Engineer, than it does me. I am going to double your chances of survival, whether you like it, or not." Malcolm Reed, Lieutenant on board the first Earth Warp 5 capable vessel smiled mirthlessly.

He efficiently stripped of his thermo blanket and jacket, arranging Trip on one of the benches, wrapped in both available blankets and jackets for added layers of potential insulation – he would think of the whole ordeal as an ultimate failure, if he committed suicide to grant his air supply to his superior officer and the aforesaid man succumbed to hypothermia before having had time to use it. _A bloody merry afterlife meeting that would be, if such a thing exists._

He detachedly noticed that his body stopped shivering – a clear sign that hypothermia probably lost its fight with the adrenaline now coursing through him, at least for the moment. Trip, on the other hand, was still shaking, even stunned unconscious.

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Armory Officer on the Starfleet ship Enterprise, looked down on his shivering friend and smiled – a sad half-twitch of frozen lips. "Sleep well, my friend. You have at least a fighting chance now."

* * *

Captain Archer was impatiently waiting behind the door to the launch bay, accompanied by Doctor Phlox, several orderlies and their medical supplies, as well as two crewmen from Engineering.

The launch bay team had the Shuttlepod One onboard and was repressurizing the bay as quickly as possible, but it still felt like an eternity to the Captain.

The scans for bio-signs onboard Shuttlecraft One were not conclusive, but the temperature readings were not exactly encouraging. Archer just prayed that it was faulty equipment and not something infinitely worse.

"Launch Bay has been pressurized, Captain. You are free to go."

* * *

The Engineering detachment managed to wrangle the frozen side hatch to the shuttlepod in record time, showing the frost-covered interior and a blanket cocoon on one of the benches. Doctor Phlox bustled in the shuttlepod, carefully peeling one of the blankets away and then promptly having the whole heap transferred to one of the gurneys.

The orderlies sped away with it.

"Doctor, who is…"

"Commander Tucker. He is still breathing. We are still missing Lieutenant Reed, it seems."

There was a nasty feeling in Archer's gut, all of a sudden. There was only one space on the shuttlepod that was not immediately visible from the interior

"Rostov. Open the airlock, please."

From the suddenly pale face of the Engineering crewman, Archer realized that he was not the only one to put two and two together.


	4. Shockwave II

"You positive you want to do this? It could get pretty ugly." Commander Tucker asked him, handing him the captured Suliban pistol.

"I am positive," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed answered resignedly.

"You've got 30 minutes. Good luck."

Reed nodded and moved out from his cabin, already concentrating on his planned target and mentally shunting all possible distractions aside. He knew that there was always a chance that the Suliban might kill him when they were done. _It is called tossing the ballast out, Commander._

* * *

Malcolm breathed deeply once, knowing that the Suliban were there. His sixth sense was screaming at him to come out of the door shooting or to stay in and come up with another plan. But he knew he needed to go outside and get captured, to get Suliban attention to allow his fellow officers to try and wrench the ship back from them. _Even if it is going to cost you more than your fellows might realize,_ he smiled mirthlessly to himself, going out from Daniel's cabin and locking it again.

He turned around, not surprised at seeing the pistol barrels trained at him.

_Time to dance, Malcolm._

“Hand the pistol and that device over, Human.” The Suliban instructed him.

Lieutenant Reed breathed deeply in and out.

His instinct was screaming at him to try and get out of the situation, but he _needed_ to get captured. With a displeased face, he complied with the demand.

“Turn around, hands on the bulkhead.”

Malcolm was internally seething, knowing with a certainty trained into him by years of service what will follow.

The frisking hands of Suliban came and shortly located his non-regulation knife in its leg sheath, depriving him of it.

The Fleeter was watching the bulkhead, wondering what else his captors were planning to do, when the unexpected blow to his back drove him to his knees.

Reed reflexively curled into a ball, hands trying to snake around his torso to the point of impact.

_Ugly fuckers._

Strong hands grabbed him and started to drag him towards the closest turbolift, not particularly caring if he can walk, or not.

* * *

The bridge floor came to meet him rather abruptly. Malcolm wheezed and spat out a mouthful of blood, sort of grateful that there was no tooth this time. He blinked owlishly, trying to right his sight a bit. Sluggishly, he put his hands under himself and started to work on getting upright once more.

"Did you think we wouldn't be watching Daniels' quarters?" Silik asked him from somewhere above.

"I guess I wasn't thinking," Malcolm muttered obnoxiously. _I KNEW you were there, you snot ball._

The Suliban that was acting as Silik's muscle grabbed him and unscrupulously threw him onto the Captain's chair.

The impact drove his breath out of him, battered ribs protesting the handling in shots of liquid fire across his torso.

"I guess you weren't. But you should be thinking now. Thinking about what would happen if you don't answer my questions. " Silik was doing his level best at trying to intimidate him. _Oh, for the love of Lord, you don't even know how to intimidate a prisoner properly, man._ Malcolm scrambled in the chair a bit, trying to act cowed.

"Are you thinking about that, Lieutenant Reed?"

The tone changed, implying pain and suffering in the near future for the captive officer, if there was no cooperation forthcoming.

Malcolm didn't even try to suppress the slightly frightened gulp that that sentence got from him. _Now you are getting there._

"Now tell me what this is. What does it do?"

"I don't know."

Their eyes met for a split second. Silik had read exactly what Malcolm wanted him to from this eye contact – stubborn defiance, but one that is standing on a very shaky foundation by now. _Who would think that I would be grateful to the Section for interrogation training. And acting lessons Mum insisted I take as a lad._

Silik moved out of his personal space, only to be followed by a swift right hook, expertly placed to where his upper eye-tooth used to be. The hit carried him halfway across the other armrest, adding new layers of pain to his already abused rib cage.

Malcolm spent a second trying to breathe through the pain, slightly hampered by the new layer of pain in his ribs. _We should be getting close to the half an hour mark. Time for you to break me, you bastard._

"What does it do?" Silik had placed the piece of tech from Daniels' quarters directly in front of his eyes, impatient to get some answers.

"I don't know."

The muscle man yanked him up, hand already drawn back to deliver another punch.

"Please!" _Now, to sell it believably. I need to feed it to you hook, line and sinker._

"Yes?"

"I was told to destroy it. I don't know what it does." Malcolm answered haltingly, ostensibly breaking under the interrogation.

"Who told you to destroy it?"

When the next answer was not delivered immediately, the muscle had briefly contorted his hand holding the uniform collar a bit, effectively choking Malcolm.

"Captain Archer. Before he left. He didn't want you to find it." This time, the breathlessness was not faked.

"And why would that be?"

"He thought you might use it to contact someone. I don't know who. I swear it." _Eat it, snot face._

The look of satisfaction on Silik's face was hard to miss, even with one eye swollen shut and the other close behind.

The pressure of his uniform collar lessened as well, allowing him several unrestricted breaths.

"Have the Lieutenant returned to his quarters."

_Hook, line, and sinker!_

The muscle man grabbed the front of Malcolm's uniform and unscrupulously dragged him up, jostling his abused ribs in the process, not caring in the slightest.

* * *

Malcolm was frogmarched by two Suliban down the corridor, nearing his quarters.

_I do hope they remembered to move those two we nailed in the beginning. Otherwise, there might be an unpleasant round two now._

The door to Tactical Officer's quarters hissed open, revealing the two still forms of Suliban. _At least Hoshi is no longer here,_ was the last grateful thought, before his escort rammed him against the closest bulkhead.

“What did you do to them, human?" the muscle man hissed in his face, fists closed in his uniform and putting unwanted pressure on already tenderized ribs.

"Nothing." _No alarms yet, I need to buy more time._

The knee in the groin was not expected. Malcolm tried to double over in pain, but the Suliban elbow at his neck prevented it, restricting his air supply.

The Suliban let him slide down the bulkhead, towering menacingly over.

"What. did. you. do. to. them?" each word was punctuated by a sharp kick towards his chest, occasionally followed by a crack of broken ribs.

"Sari, let him be. Call someone to help us move them, they are probably just unconscious. If not – we can always come back and ask again."  
This was delivered with a side glance at the Lieutenant, who was by then laying on his side, half hunched up, instinctively covering his vulnerable belly.

* * *

The moment they stopped on the bridge of the ship after the Suliban vacated it, Trip noticed that one man was missing.

"T'Pol."

"Go." The Vulcan didn't even need an explanation for his wordless request. She seemed aware that someone was missing.

Trip reached the correct cabin on B deck in record time, punching his emergency override code in. The door opened, revealing a slumped figure on the floor.

"Damn it! Malcolm!" The Chief Engineer was at his friend's side in an instant, horrified by all the bruises and blood visible.

"Trip to Doctor Phlox. Malcolm's quarters and make it on the double, please."

"Acknowledged. Is Lieutenant Reed conscious?" came the slightly out of breath response from his communicator.

"No. And I really don't like how he looks."

* * *

"What is the status, Doctor?" came the tired voice of Captain Archer from behind him. Phlox turned and wanly smiled at their returned commanding officer.

"Bumps and bruises, Captain. Nothing that a good rest will not ultimately take care of."

"What about Malcolm?" Jonathan Archer seemed willing to bite his tongue at that moment. He knew that his Tactical officer had paid the ultimate price for freeing the ship, but he was asking about the details as some sort of perverted voyeur. _Stop this, Jonathan_. _You would have gotten this in report anyways. And you owe it to Malcolm to know what he had to go through to help your people to get back your ship._

"There was little I could do, Captain. It seems that during the Suliban interrogation, one of his ribs got splintered. The resulting splinters lodged themselves in his left lung and pericardiac sack. The following bleeding accumulated in it and it stopped his heart shortly after. When Commander Tucker found him, it was already too late. Maybe if I thought about checking at him first, when the lockdown was lifted…" the Denobulan looked ready to cry.

"Stop it, doctor. No one had any reason to anticipate that Suliban would beat their captives to death over anything. We know now, thanks to Malcolm and his sacrifice. Next time, we will be ready for that." Archer felt like the words were eating him alive. _Next time, we will be ready. I swear it to you, Malcolm Reed,_

* * *

_Author's note: My apologies for the delay in posting new chapter. Real life interfered._

_Feel free to leave comments or kudos, they feed the Muse ;)_


	5. Minefield

"Bridge."

Lieutenants Reed's voice sounded strangled to Hoshi Sato's sensitive ears. Something was on with the taciturn Brit.

"Go ahead." Jonathan Archer sounded strained as if dividing his attention between the view screen, where the Romulan mines were floating, Travis' flying and Lieutenant Reed was taxing him.

"Another one of those spikes I told you about."

"What about it?" Archer seemed impatient to get to the crux of the matter – and soon, from the sound of his voice.

"It just magnetized itself to the hull." Again, that strange breathlessness that was so unlike the stoic Lieutenant Hoshi came to know over the previous months.

"Is there a problem?"

"On its way, "Lieutenant Reed coughs, but a bit breathlessly, as if pained," It went through my leg, sir."

"I'm on my way, Lieutenant. The Bridge is yours." Captain Archer had immediately mentally changed gears, handing the command over to Subcommander T'Pol and heading to the turbo lift.

Trip's body language screamed his concern about his taciturn friend to any trained eyes.

"Captain, I should…"

The Enterprise suddenly lurched maddeningly all around them, sending the standing officers every which way.

Alarms blared, even as Hoshi punched in Lieutenant's frequency automatically.

"Bridge to Lieutenant Reed. Malcolm, come in!"

Subcommander T'Pol was the first one up from the heap on the floor. Her fingers frantically cycled through camera views, looking for any working camera that would shove them the starboard astern section, where the mine was sitting.

Finally, the horrified bridge crew saw only a star field – and a part of their saucer missing, where the mine had been before.

* * *

The whole crew was crammed in the Armory, surrounding the torpedo capsule.

_Empty torpedo capsule, Jonathan_. Jonathan Archer had to swallow several times before he was sure that his voice would carry.

"Lieutenant Reed was an excellent officer. A man of his word, of determination and drive to protect his ship and his crewmates - no matter the cost to himself or his wellbeing, but always thinking about others, standing as a guardian angel in front of them. He was always ready to serve, to help his fellow crewmembers to learn how to defend themselves and was tireless in making sure that the Enterprise was able to withstand any test put before her and to emerge victorious at its end. Most of us owe him our lives, some of us several times over. "  
There were several wetly sounding chuckles at that.  
"He would have said that it does not matter, that it was his duty and honor to make sure that the crew and the ship survives, no matter the sacrifice required, for he would pay it with no remorse and no hesitation. And that is what he did in the end – gave his life for the ship and her crew to live another day. We have come here to honor one of our own today."

With that, Captain Jonathan Archer stood to attention, snapping a salute. The whole Armory followed his example, holding it as Armory crew folded the British flag that was laid over the empty capsule and lowered it onto the loading line. Then they stood at attention as well, all eyes following the torpedo casing on its last way to the torpedo launcher and onwards among the stars.


	6. The Communicator

A rattle of the heavy cell door brought both men out of their silent contemplation. Whatever needed to be said had been said some time ago by both of them and the last few moments were full of quiet between them.

The guards came in, efficiently binding their hands and leading them outside to the courtyard with the gallows and towards their planned meeting with the Reaper.

Both men walked with head held high, maybe still hoping that there was a last-minute rescue on its way.

_Hope goes last,_ was replaying over and over in Jonathan Archer’s mind.

The sight of the gallows might have changed that.

Their steps started to shorten seemingly of their own volition, as the reality of the imminent death loomed ominously

Captain Archer suddenly turned to General Gosim, Commander of the installation and their chief interrogator. And as it seemed their executioner as well.  
The surrounding soldiers immediately stiffened, hands going to their weapons, ready to intervene.

"He is my Tactical Officer. He can tell you everything you want to know about the Alliance's troop deployments, their weapons," everyone in the courtyard could see that Archer was pleading for his subordinate's life, trying to buy him few more hour, if nothing else.

"Captain." The man in question looked as uncomfortable with his superior's outburst like anyone else.

"You don't need to kill him," Archer tried to move the General to clemency one last time.

There was a moment of surreal quiet, uncomfortable for everyone.

"General?" One of the soldiers hesitantly broke the hush that had fallen over the courtyard.

The man in question looked extremely discomfited and somewhat nervous but indicated that they should proceed with the execution.

Both humans were taken to the gallows, and the nooses were fitted.

Archer was remorsefully staring at his Tactical officer, detachedly noting the shaking chin and frantic swallowing. _It is OK to show fear, Malcolm. No one will fault you for it now, in the end._

The courtyard's pre-morning stillness was disturbed by the soft whoosh of an incoming vehicle.

There was a wind disturbing the dust, seemingly coming from nowhere. The soldiers were bewildered by this, shielding their eyes from the flying dust.

Archer whipped his head to stare forward, hoping against all hope. He recognized the sound – it was a shuttlecraft setting down. _Not visible would mean they managed to make the Suliban cell ship work. Trip, I owe you one!_

Out of thin air, an arm holding a phase pistol appeared and took a shot.

The man standing next to Jonathan fell with a surprised grunt, not having time to pull the lever that would have plunged the Enterprise’s captain to his death.

Archer was ready to cheer his people on for their persistence in the face of insurmountable odds.

The sound of the gallows grate opening next to him brought him back to the harsh reality with the swiftness of a fist driven into solar plexus.

He half-turned, as much as the noose allowed for before starting to strangle him, shouting his officer's name in denial.

Then there was the feeling of a knife between his wrists, freeing him and Trip's voice in his ear: "Jon, go!"

The resulting skirmish was unclear in Jonathan Archer's memory afterward. He remembered being showed down the gallows stairs and into the Suliban cell ship by T'Pol. Trip appeared some indeterminable time later, stubbornly dragging the body of Malcolm onboard. Jonathan remembered the mad scramble in the tiny cell ship towards them, forcefully dragging the limp body from Trip to himself. He detachedly recalled that there was a howl reverberating through the ship, his hands shaking and removing the noose from Malcolm’s neck hurriedly. The sight of the noose utterly sickened him, but the red abrasion underneath was even worse. Then there was a sharp pinch at the juncture between his shoulder and neck and merciful blackness.

* * *

_Author's note: I am going for a vacation, so enjoy an early update. All kudos and reviews are welcome as always._


	7. Harbinger

The late hour quiet in the gym was rhythmically interrupted by loud exhalations of the man training in front of the mirror, observing his form and making adjustments as needed.

The bulkhead door clicked, admitting Major Hayes, who looked like he planned to use the empty dojo for his own exercise. When he noticed the man already training, his face momentarily blanked and then he moved to leave.

"Oh my, you leaving so soon?" came the half-taunting call from the other side of the gym.

Major breathed in, obviously centering himself and trying not to rise to the bait. "I don't want to distract you."

"It's no distraction. In fact, I could use a sparring partner, if you are up for it," Lieutenant Reed issued his invitation, eyes bright from the endorphins already released by his workout and maybe a bit of a challenge resonating there as well.

The MACO didn't hesitate this time, taking his jacket off. "Always."

They both started to circle at the same time, looking for an opening and holding their guards ready, sizing each other up.

The Tactical officer started the spar, the MACO major reacting.

"Good forearm block. Nice back fist. Show me the combination." Hayes assessed his superior on the fly, as any good sparring partner would.

The tempo of the exchange started to quicken.

Suddenly, Major Hayes threw Lieutenant Reed to the floor, calmly commenting.

"Faster on that combination. You are improving."

The Armory officer picked himself up, starting to get angry and stepping up the tempo even more. His next left hook landed in the face of his sparring partner.

"You want to keep that left up," the condescending tone of his counterpart fanned the Major's temper in an unbelievably short amount of time to a roaring inferno.

"That's it. Stay loose. Excellent," Lieutenant Reed spaced the punches between the sentences, throwing Hayes’ earlier words back at him as taunts. The Tactical Officer slipped under the MACO's guard, delivering a vicious jab to his lower back.

"You are improving," Reed threw Hayes’s own words back at him again, a slightly maniacal grin on his face.

Hayes was still pulling the following blows, aware that he was sparring with his superior officer, earning himself a takedown to the floor in the end for that, right arm extended up and to the side. Reed was holding him down like a disobedient puppy at that moment.

The MACO's blood started to boil, quickly slipping from sparring to fighting.

"OK, Lieutenant."

"Major?" The little come hither gesture, coupled with the manic smile used to send Section 31 recruits running for the closest cover. Instructor Jaguar was unpredictable and ready to teach a painful lesson to anyone unlucky enough to be on the receiving end when looking like this.

The fight morphed from a sparring session into a brutal one afterwards. Both participants stopped to pull the punches, trying to hit and down their opponent with the single-mindedness that was trained into them over long years.

Slowly and surely, the MACO started to gain the upper hand. He managed to land a nice uppercut, momentarily stunning Reed, helping it with a kick to the chest.

"I have no problems taking orders from you," the Major all but bellowed, enthralled by the adrenaline rushing through him and diminishing his common sense. 

The high kick to the head of his opponent as well as the dull thud of the limp body felt immensely satisfying.

"After lunar survival training, I can handle just about anything. Good sparring with you," he stomped to his discarded jacket, fully intent on marching straight out of the gym and to the shower, to leave the Enterprise's Tactical officer to be found by whoever happens to be by first. _A bit of humiliation is going to serve you right, asshole._

The MACO was almost out of the doors when his adrenaline addled common sense proverbially kicked him in the head. He might detest the Lieutenant for being a monumental pain in the ass, but there were rules to be followed – and one of them was clear on not leaving your sparring partner on the tatami after they went down without checking on them first.

Major Hayes reluctantly turned back to the dojo and immediately froze in his tracks. His brain was shouting at him, pointing out that Lieutenant Reed had not moved _at all_ from the heap he landed in.

_Oh, bloody shit_. Hayes was not sure how he traversed the gym, but the next thing he remembered was being on his knees next to the prone body of Lieutenant Reed, trying and failing to find a heartbeat. His stunned brain also helpfully supplied him with the bit about Reed not breathing, as his lips and tip of his nose were starting to turn purplish-blue.

There was a sound behind him from the direction of the bulkhead. He didn't care who it was, as they were currently closer to the wall-mounted communicator.

"Call Sickbay! Now! Medical Emergency!"

* * *

When the Engineering crew managed to deal with their roaming alien problem, Major Hayes almost immediately got a very terse summons to the Captain's ready room.

"Major. Care to explain, why Doctor Phlox called me to report that my Chief Tactical officer's corpse was delivered to the Sickbay from the gym and is currently undergoing an autopsy to determine the cause of death. And that it was not from the marauding alien."

Major Hayes was standing at attention, determinedly staring at the bulkhead slightly over the Captain's right shoulder. He didn't have the guts to face his commanding officer at the moment. He used excessive force during the sparring session and it caused his direct superior's demise. He was aware of the sheer stupidity of it – he was a seasoned officer, not some rookie, for fuck's sake! And yet, it happened.

"I used excessive force during a training session with Lieutenant Reed. The force used was the direct cause of his demise, of which I am fully aware and ready to bear consequences for, sir." Hayes blandly offered to the bulkhead, still holding himself rigidly at attention.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed how livid Archer must be – the usually jovial Captain had a face set in stone, with eyes narrowed and staring at him, resembling a predator seizing his prey before pouncing on it.

"Excessive force, Major? You are supposed to be a fucking professional! These kinds of things should not happen to you!" Archer all but bellowed at the end, restlessly stalking to the door leading from his Ready room to the corridor outside.

"I am confining you to Brig, for the time being, Major." Archer all but spat at his back, pinging the door.

It opened to two Armory Ensigns standing at attention behind, unmoving but eyes ablaze with fury.

"Please escort and confine Major Hayes to the Brig. He has been relieved of duty as of now."

The only response Archer got for that pronouncement was a smart about face from the MACO major.

* * *

_Author's note: As said in the previous chapter, I am off for vacation, so two chapter update today ;) Enjoy your reading! Feel free to leave kudos or a review, it always makes my day._


	8. The Forgotten

The leaking plasma was burning bright green in front of them as some sort of a geyser that found its way from inside the ship to the unforgiving vacuum of space.

Both men stopped in their tracks for a second, silently admiring the ethereal deadly beauty, mesmerized by it. Trip broke the enchantment a bit later, motioning to an access panel in front of them.

"Open that panel and I will talk you through the cutoff sequence, Malcolm."   
The chief Tactical officer started walking towards it immediately, asking his friend at the same time.

"Where is the other valve?"

"Over there," the Chief Engineer answered, already on his way to open the next hatch.

The Armory Officer got to work, keen on eliminating the danger to the ship as soon as possible. He felt the first drops of sweat collecting on his forehead, sliding into his eyes.

"Commander, I have a problem. I think the heat has warped the metal. The panel won't open." Malcolm reported after a moment when his attempts to access his assigned valve proved unsuccessful.

"Use your plasma torch. I will be there in a minute. I'm releasing the interlock on the first port. This is gonna take a while," came the quick answer, almost immediately followed by a half-teasing admonishment. "Careful you don't cut through the bypass relays, Malcolm."

He blinked the persistent sweat from his eyes, wholly concentrating on his plasma torch and mentally shunting the complaints of his body about the uncomfortable temperature aside.

* * *

"The manifold pressure is increasing. We have less than six minutes before the fire reaches the reactor shielding," T'Pol reported calmly to the tense atmosphere on the Bridge.

"Archer to Trip. You have less than six minutes."

"Understood."

* * *

The burning plasma geyser behind them exploded, fed by the purged plasma from the ports for a moment.

"You OK, Malcolm?" came the worried question on the suit-to-suit link.

"I'm almost there," came the determined answer.

* * *

"Captain, the temperature in Lieutenant Reed's suit is over 44 degrees. He is too close to the fire. His EV suit can't compensate accordingly." T'Pol stated with a barely discernible undercurrent of concern.

"Malcolm, get back to the airlock."

The whole bridge could hear the labored breathing of their Tactical officer on the open channel.

"I'm almost finished, Captain." The intermittent wheezes were not reassuring.

"That's an order," the Captain automatically added, hoping to draw the expected reaction from his tradition-bound officer.

"Get inside Malcolm. I can wrap it up," their Chief Engineer joined in half-distractedly, obviously concentrating on his own valve.

"No." The half-breathed denial almost didn't make it through the speakers.

"I am opening the primary bypass port. Two more to go and we are in business." came from their Chief Engineer half-victoriously a second later.

"Forty-six degrees Celsius and rising, Captain."

"Malcolm!"

"I'm sorry sir, you are breaking up." the whole sentence sounded as if Malcolm was using his last reserves of air.

The atmosphere rocketed up another few notches, the Bridge observing both men on the view screen.

* * *

Malcolm felt as if he had just finished running a marathon in a laundry room, breathing quickly and shallowly, as his body demanded more and more air.

There was a beating pain under his ribcage, stabbing pain shooting into his left shoulder and along his jaw.

"Get inside Malcolm. I can finish." His friend came in over the suit-to-suit line again, voice tinged with worry.

"There is no time. Do what you have to do so I can shut this down." The beating pain under his ribcage intensified as if answering his friend had squandered reserves he could ill afford to lose at this moment.

"A few more seconds. I am purging the last port."

"And the forward valve is closed. OK, Malcolm. Clockwise 90 degrees."

Lieutenant Reed concentrated hard on those instructions, pulling the lever into the position. He knew there was an unconsciousness coming – he was there on the brink enough times to recognize it. His foot jammed under the pipes not to float away, he let go.

* * *

"Tucker to doctor Phlox. Meet us in the airlock." The urgent, partially breathless voice of his friend brought Archer to his feet and the turbo-lift immediately.

* * *

Trip was pushing the limp body of his friend towards the airlock, frantically counting seconds. He didn't know what was wrong with Malcolm – he could guess, based on the Bridge warning about Malcolm's suit not compensating for the high temperature, but it was not the same as knowing.

* * *

Captain Archer and Degra arrived to a sight of organized chaos – Doctor Phlox and one of his orderlies were frantically digesting an unresponsive Malcolm out of his suit, helped by already partly unsuited Trip.

Doctor Phlox took one look at his handheld scanner and barked a tense: "Sickbay, now!", leaving them without a backward glance.

Trip was staring behind the Denobulan with a forlorn expression on his face before he zeroed in on Degra. The Xindi was standing slightly behind Captain Archer, obviously ill at ease with the situation he just witnessed.

"Are you happy, you bastard! Seems like you have another notch on your belt," the usually jovial Floridan downright seethed at their Xindi visitor.

"I am sorry for what happened to Lieutenant Reed." The Xindi Primate stiffly offered in return.

"Sorry?!" Trip all but howled and tried to jump him.

Archer barely managed to get his arms around his livid Chief Engineer, restraining him.

"That's enough, Commander! Control yourself," he all but shouted into the man's ear.

The struggle slowly abated. The lackluster _Aye, sir_ was not regulation, but it was there. Archer decided to let it slide for the moment.

* * *

Jonathan Archer entered the CIC with Degra in tow. They were alone for the moment.

The warbling of com forestalled any conversation.

"Phlox to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead, doctor."

"Captain, I am sorry to report that Lieutenant Reed had not made it." The Denobulan sounded as if someone had force-fed him a handful of gravel.

Archer was silent for a heartbeat, and then a lackluster "Acknowledged, doctor." was heard. He terminated the call, leaning his fists on the table for a moment, head bowed.

Degra dared not to speak. 

* * *

_Author's note: I am back from holiday!_


	9. Zero Hour

"We are here to destroy it. Give me the charges." Archer commanded his Armory officer impatiently.

"I will take care of it, sir." There was no trace of hesitation in Malcolm Reed's voice.

"I want the four of you to get to the outer framework. Beam back to Degra's ship." Both automatically looked over to where the two MACOs were covering access points, Hoshi huddled next to them.

"As Chief Tactical Officer…" Malcolm tried to reason with his stubborn, self-sacrificing commanding officer, who still didn't get the fact that Captains were more important than mere Lieutenants in the grand scheme of things through his head.

"This is not open to debate, Lieutenant."

Reed hoped that at least this once, his captain would listen to common sense and save himself. He was irreplaceable to the ship and Earth. Certain tactical officer was very much expendable, on the contrary. There was a solution for every situation, though. The Section had seen fit to beat that axiom through his skull on more than one occasion. Due to this, he always went prepared for any scenario that might happen – in this case, his solution was a small unmarked hypospray in his shoulder pocket, ready to dispatch anyone injected to the land of dreams. He would usually prefer to load it with something stronger and far more deadly than the strong sedative he nicked from the ship's CMO, but weeks in the Expanse, as well as spatial anomalies, had seen fit to rid him of the poisons he had available. Its original use was intended to dispatch any guards they met on their way in quietly and efficiently, saving them energy on their weapon's energy cells.

_Well, in for a penny…_ Reed thought sardonically, opening his shoulder pocket, ostensibly to hand over the first charge.

He grabbed the primed hypospray and jabbed it into the outstretched hand of his commanding officer.

"Mal…" Archer didn't manage to say anything else, as the fast-acting sedative caught him unaware. His legs folded underneath him, Reed barely catching him before the limp form hit the floor grating.

_You can court-martial me afterward for this, sir…_ he thought ironically.

"Romero. Get the Captain and get the hell out of here." Reed snapped.

The MACO turned from his watch, noticing that the Lieutenant was supporting the Captain, who had fallen unconscious. MACOs were not in the habit of questioning their superiors, when on enemy territory, so he immediately moved over the pair and pulled the Captain into rescue carry, leaving his arms free to operate his rifle.

Malcolm spared a glance after the group leaving the command center. Woods was leading them, vigilantly sweeping forward for any sign of enemy activity. Sato was in the middle, following his lead a bit dreamily, as if not able to decide if this was a dream or reality. Romero was last, carefully balancing Archer on his back and covering their retreat.

There were precious few moments to place the charges to make the center inoperable. Malcolm Reed was no naïve recruit – he knew that once he detonated the set charges and sabotaged the core, his chances of making it off the weapon on time were minuscule at best.

He grimly set about his task, carefully placing the available explosives to maximize damage.

Charges fired, Malcolm quickly crawled under the shaking floor gratings to finish what his Captain started.

The alarm started immediately, grating on his nerves.

_Time to try and beat the odds,_ he thought gloomily.

Dragging himself out of the narrow passage quickly, he was suddenly overshadowed by an entirely different problem – an ugly Reptilian, they had to have missed on their previous sweep of the area, had decided to introduce himself via an ugly knife with a serrated blade. Through Malcolm's chest.

He smiled mirthlessly, bright red blood already painting his teeth red. _Time for plan B then._

"Let's dance, lizard," he rasped and activated the modified grenade he had in his other hand, hidden from the Reptilian's gaze.

The explosion took out most of the command center, shortly followed by the whole weapon.

* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer felt as if he was suffering from a heart attack, swamped as he was by all the pain he witnessed. He had already met the families of almost all of his lost crewmembers – the Expanse had been brutal and unforgiving in that aspect.

There was one family left. And he was not sure if he was strong enough to face them.

There was a ceremony beforehand, where all the lost were memorized publicly. The Starfleet flags that were standing in for the lost ones were carefully folded and lovingly passed to the families, whose loved ones died during their mission. This particular family asked for a private handover.

Archer snapped to attention when the door to the room where he was waiting finally opened. He dimly registered Trip and T'Pol mirroring his posture.

A man in Royal Navy Captain uniform entered, stone-faced, followed by two women clothed in black, even wearing the old fashioned semi-transparent veils covering their faces. The older one was supported by the younger, quietly weeping.

There was precious little to be done now, outside of ceremoniously handing over the flag to the man, who accepted it without a word.

Archer felt the need to say something. Anything. He breathed in.

Captain Stuart Reed beat him to it.

"Don't, Captain. Don't say anything about heroes. My son did his duty as any Reed would have done. Nothing more, nothing less."

Captain Reed's hold imperceptibly tightened on the case with the folded flag.

"And now, this is all that we have left of him."

* * *

_Author's note: Sorry for the delay in updating, people. My life just went crazy in the last few days._


	10. Chapter 10

"Computer, access satellite logs 137, time parameters 1900 and 1945, today."

The screen flashed at him "No data available" message.

Tactical Officer Malcolm Reed briefly stiffened in disbelief. _That cannot be right. Maybe we do not have a proper connection._

"Starfleet Operations, this is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed aboard Enterprise."

The quiet of no one answering was deeply unsettling to Lieutenant Reed. His hackles started to raise, mind running over possible scenarios.

"Please acknowledge," he tried again, hoping that it was just a connectivity issue.

"Burning the midnight oil, Lieutenant?" The white-haired man on the screen was someone Lieutenant Reed hoped never to see again. Yet, Malcolm Reed was an officer in Starfleet and would give his superiors their due – whatever unflattering thoughts he might harbor about them on the side.

"Sir, I thought I was calling Starfleet Ops," Reed stiffly acknowledged his former superior, pointedly reminding him that he had other duties to perform.

"Let me guess. You want to know why the grid covering San Francisco was down for maintenance tonight," the man affably suggested.

"Something like that," Malcolm stiffly acknowledged. His private alarm was ringing at full volume by that time.

"Meet me at this address in one hour," Harris transmitted an address in one of the residential suburbs of San Francisco and disconnected.

Chief Tactical Officer of the Enterprise automatically visually checked the Armory to make sure that there was no one listening in on their transmission. Then, his mind started to cover what needed to be done to get Earthside to meet with Harris and not to raise any suspicion. He did not doubt that Section 31 had its fingers all over the kidnapping of Doctor Phlox now. The only thing the Armory Officer was missing at this time was their motive for it. And he fully intended to uncover it as soon as humanely possible.

The mist in San Francisco reminded Malcolm of home. Not the one his parents currently had in Malaysia, but the one he remembered from childhood – the misty Albion.

He finally found his erstwhile superior standing next to a tree.

„Am I to understand you are responsible for this?" Malcolm immediately demanded from his former handler. There was already little love lost between them, owing to his departure from the Section.

"Not me personally," the white-haired man kindly pointed out.

Malcolm couldn't hold the disbelieving scoff back even if he tried to.

"We have an assignment for you," Harris continued over him without missing a beat.

"I was not aware that I was still part of your section, Harris. I report to Captain Archer now," he informed his former handler coldly.

Harris looked him up and down with a disrespectful gaze. "That is not the Malcolm I know."

"This is the Malcolm there is now," came the quiet, self-assured answer.

"Nevertheless, Lieutenant," the Section handler continued in a reasonable tone," I have some information you might find useful here."

There was a data chip in his hand.

Reed was eyeing it suspiciously but extended his hand to take the proffered piece.

Harris might be older than the Lieutenant and removed from the direct fieldwork for many years, but he was still quick as an attacking cobra when the situation called for it. He dropped the data chip and grabbed the outstretched hand of the Enterprise's Chief Tactical Officer, jerking him closer.

The split second of surprise was all that Harris needed. His other hand darted forward, bringing the knife he held in it between the Brit's ribs unerringly.

Malcolm Reed was momentarily frozen by the acute pain, unable to voice pain nor surprise.

"You made yourself a liability to the Section, Lieutenant."

Harris looked his victim in the eye for several moments, helping him collapse to the ground with an air of almost regret.

Malcolm felt as if from a great distance dispassionate hands patting him down and removing his communicator, phase pistol and his knife from its sheath. He realized that Harris was looking straight into his eyes with sadness again.

"You should have stayed with the Section, Jaguar."

* * *

Captain Jonathan Archer fervently hoped that the early morning call from Starfleet Security to come down to San Francisco to identify a body of his Security officer had been some sort of mix-up, since his Security officer was still on board the Enterprise. They were preparing for a hasty departure, hoping to follow a lead on their kidnapped doctor, after all.

But when the buzzer did not bring Malcolm to open his door, an uncomfortable feeling started to make itself known in Archer's stomach.

He used his commanding officer override code, only to discover that there was no one in the cabin.

The dread started to solidify after a brief query of the computer revealed that the Armory head had beamed down to Earth shortly after midnight _on an unspecified errand_ , but had not come back up in the meantime.

Jonathan Archer asked Trip to accompany him down to Starfleet Command, leaving T'Pol to oversee the last preparations with a harried _We will be back as soon as possible and then we are leaving._

The Security detail waiting for them at the transporter alcove brought both men short.

Archer was about to say something, when the Ensign in charge beat him to it.

"Sir, the Doctor has been kidnapped and now we are missing Lieutenant Reed as well. Ensign Gomez has assigned us as your protection detail, when coming down. Please, do not delay and let's get this done, so we can get on the way to find the Doctor. Lieutenant is a tough customer and if he was kidnapped as well, he has a better chance at saving his ass than the Doctor."

Archer noisily exhaled, realizing that Em Gomez was acting as Malcolm would have done, however it cut against his personal grain.

He grudgingly nodded his assent and all four men stepped on the transporter pad.

Down at the Starfleet Command, their appearance caused a few raised eyebrows. The Lieutenant waiting for them decided not to comment in the end, though her disbelieving stare spoke volumes nonetheless, as she led them to the morgue to confirm the identity of their John Doe.

The refrigerator doors opened and a stretcher with a sheet covered body ran out.

The autopsy assistant took the sheet and pulled it back, revealing the slack face of their Armory officer.

Jonathan Archer closed his eyes in pain. Trip's exclamation next to him was much less restrained and much more colorful than the situation called for.

"Yes, Lieutenant, I can confirm that this is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed." He got out a moment later, voice strained.

The woman opposite him nodded, motioning for the assistant to cover the body again.

"Wait a second! How did he…what happened?"

That was Trip, pale as a freshly washed sheet.

The woman stared at him for a second, clearly torn between her duty as an investigator and her sense of comradeship with fellow Fleeters. When she noticed that the Captain was watching her as well, clearly waiting for an answer, she straightened.

"He was stabbed several times. Preliminary examination suggests that the stab wounds resulted in a massive pulmonary trauma that led to the death."

Both men looked stunned at that. It was not a good death.

"There is an ongoing investigation into this, Captain. Now, if you would, please?" The female Lieutenant was pointedly moving towards the door leading out from the morgue, both men following her out.

The Security detachment from the ship did not ask any questions, when they saw their commanding officers emerge from the morgue. It was not necessary.

* * *

_Author's note:_

_I have been looking through similar stories, trying to find where Malcolm Reed's Section name started - Jaguar is not my idea. i have borrowed it, shamefully I admit without asking original creator for permission - it just fits with my personal headcanon very well now. If I manage to find the author/they contact me, I will update it here accordingly._

_Em Gomez is probably also a part of fandom, though I found some mentions about Gomes in official sources and she should be from the Armory, its second in command. Nevertheles, the same applies as for Jaguar - if the original creator objects, I will alter the story._


	11. Divergence I

"Don't mean to be a pest, but could someone tell me what's going on?" Commander Tucker asked no one in particular on the open channel, seemingly unperturbed by clambering up on the tether between the ships flying at high WARP as if he was doing it every day.

"You are almost here, Trip. Keep going." Malcolm Reed encouraged his friend in response, eyeing the tether line with trepidation. He knew the maximum reach of it and was praying to whatever deity might be listening for it to hold on long enough.

The ship went on shaking all around Malcolm, announcing its precarious situation.  
Malcolm noticed the flashing red warning sign on the tether's display.

"The tether is at its limit! Hurry up!"

The Armory Officer was staring at his friend, mentally urging him to speed up on the last few meters. He kept his other eye on the tether's moorings, mentally calculating how much force it would take to tear it loose. He didn't like the answer his quick mental calculation provided.

"Almost there!"

Trip was now level with the walkway he was standing on.

The safety clasp on Trip's harness had been quickly and efficiently disengaged by the Security Chief, dragging Trip on the walkway at the same moment.

Malcolm distantly heard the moorings tearing free above them. He acted on instinct – showing Trip with as much force as he could towards the operator's booth, getting him out of the immediate danger.

The torn piece of equipment caught him on the left side of his body, semi-catapulting him out from the walkway and towards the closed floor hatch on the other side of hangar bay.

The tether disappeared through the opened seal into the WARP 5 space outside.

Malcolm hit the unforgiving deck, feeling the impact through his EV suit, the breath driven from his chest and feeling more than hearing the resulting various cracks and snaps he made upon impact.

He blacked out for a moment from the sheer wrongness of it all.

* * *

Regaining consciousness was a study in torture itself.

Malcolm could physically feel the slowly mounting pressure in his chest, the strain of getting air into lungs that felt like breathing through a damp sponge pressed over his nose and mouth. It was curious, he realized detachedly, that there was no pain below his stomach.

His sight and hearing came back next, in small increments. Over the pounding blood in his ears, he could hear someone frantically shouting something. He slowly realized that it must be Trip, from the thick accent. _But that's not right. Trip is on Columbia, not here. Why is he here?_

"Jon, 'm not leaving him here! He is not respondin' ! "

"Trip, there are MACOs behind that door and Cutler is on her way. The moment the pressure is back on in Hangar Bay, you open that bloody door and run to Engineering. If you don't, this whole thing is going to be pointless! Enterprise is going to be blown to high heaven and all of us with her. There is no time."

The sound announcing that the hangar bay was successfully pressurized sounded at that moment.

The lower bulkhead door opened, admitting two MACOs and Ensign Cutler, running to the limp figure of Malcolm Reed on the other side of the hangar bay.

Trip eyed them shortly, torn between the need to see to his friend and to save the ship. His sense of duty won in the end. He knew that Cutler and MACOs will do their utmost to save the ship's Chief Tactical Officer. If he didn't solve their little problem with a WARP reactor about to go boom soon, then the injury his friend sustained would be pointless. He started to run towards the Engineering, shedding pieces of his EV suit as he went.

* * *

The MACOs transferred the broken body of the ship's Tactical Officer, strapped to a board to keep it immobile to the Sickbay's biobed. The readouts over the bed sprang to life, loudly informing the present medic about the amount and extent of damage dealt to the body of Malcolm Reed.

Ensign Socorro silenced it almost immediately, staring with a rising amount of dread at the readouts. She knew what she was looking at – the amount of damage was staggering.  
An operation was out of the question as the bio signs of the injured man were all over the place and dangerously low, still dropping like a stone. She automatically started to sort through what medications could be administered to stabilize him for the moment.

" En…" the exhale was almost missed in the next shudder that ran through the ship.

But she was trained as a medical professional – sadly not a doctor, but she was studying to be admitted to a Starfleet medic training and had experience as a first responder before signing up with Starfleet. She caught it and immediately gave her attention to the man lying on the biobed.

"Lieutenant? Can you hear me?"

The grey eyes laboriously opened to small slits captured her.

"How bad?" another weak exhale.

"Lieutenant, it is not…good." She admitted, not sure what to tell the man. There was currently no one qualified on board to perform the required surgery. She was hoping to ask Columbia to send over their doctor to operate on him when the current crisis was over.  
"Please hold on. I will administer some painkillers and…"

The comm crackled to life above their heads.

"Attention all personnel. Due to the assistance from Columbia and some quick thinking from Commander Tucker, we are in the clear now. We will be dropping from WARP shortly to perform some quick checks on the engines and then we will resume our mission. Archer out."

"Call...Capt'n..quick..please…" Lieutenant Reed asked hoarsely, clearly fighting to get the words out.

The bio signs took another plunge, getting even lower than before. It was a miracle that Reed was still conscious.

Ensign Socorro did not hesitate, pressing the comm.

"Sickbay to Captain Archer. Sir, please come down here. Lieutenant Reed is asking for you. It is urgent."

* * *

Jonathan Archer had almost run into the Sickbay. He knew that his Tactical officer was injured during the transfer, but something in the medic's voice told him that it was way worse than a mere injury.

He stopped at the other side of the biobed, not to be in the way of the medic monitoring Malcolm. Surprised, he noticed that the moment he stopped, the woman left, eyes glassy.

The lying man, strapped to a board, fought to speak in vain, trying to articulate.

The Captain bent down, trying to catch the words.

"Sir…failed y…please." the voice was there, weakening with every second ticking by.

Jonathan Archer suddenly realized why the medic left them, eyes glassy. This man was dying, and begging him to grant him an absolution in his last breath for sins committed, for being human. For a breathless moment, Archer was tempted to withhold his absolution, to punish the man for a deed done even unto death.

"Malcolm. I am sorry for what I said earlier. I forgive you." He whispered in the ear of the laboring man thickly, realizing that whatever he said to him earlier, he couldn't bear to let him go thinking he was unforgiven.

Malcolm inhaled shakily, but the last exhale was harshly interrupted by the biobed that started to wail incessantly, announcing the cessation of life signs.

Jonathan reached up and switched it off, staring down on the lax face and half-opened eyes.

He felt two hot tears making its way down his face. They fell, hitting the upturned face beneath. Blindly, he reached for a nearby blanket, pulling it over Malcolm's body reverently.

The door to Sickbay hissed open. Jonathan finished draping the blanket, turning to see who was coming in. The ashen face of his Chief Engineer…his _former_ Chief Engineer came into focus. Trip was staring at the body behind him, mouth slowly and silently forming: "Malcolm…."

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks for everyone who is still reading!_

_In the meantime, I would like to thank the gracious_ _LoyaulteMeLie, who has come up with the nickname Jaguar and was willing to let me use it.  
Em Gomes can also be considered as theirs (Im using this in deference to not knowing their preferred pronouns) and the same can be said about Em now - so please, if you want to enjoy some more quality stories, go and give theirs a chance!_


	12. Divergence II

The door to the Brig opened to admit Captain Archer. He strode in and opened Lieutenant's Reed cell.

"We are above Qu'Vat. Thanks to our Klingon friend, we know that this is where they have taken Phlox." He announced tersely. "I am going to beam down there with him. I need one other person to come with me to cover us. I don't want to endanger anyone else on board. Are you in?"

Reed could read between the lines well. He mentally translated – _I care about everyone on board. Less about you, traitor. Yet, I am giving you a choice to redeem yourself._

"Yes, sir. Whatever it takes to get our doctor back."

* * *

The underground laboratory shook under the orbital bombardment.

Reed was covering the corridor, closely monitoring the conversation behind him. There was always a chance of the situation escalating beyond the veneer of civility it had now. And he could not afford any more mistakes. The doctor and Captain came first. This was his last chance to gain at least tolerance, if not forgiveness from his commanding officer. His ears pricked suddenly.

"I could finish the antivirus in less time if I had a human host to replicate enough antibodies," the Denobulan was informing Captain Archer in a strained voice.

"And you have him, doctor." Malcolm stepped in their conversation quickly, before his Captain with his self-sacrificing streak could stand up and offer himself as the test tribble.

"Lieutenant, I would have to expose you to the plague. I cannot predict what it might do to you," came the frantic warning.

"Would it give you the cure?" Captain Archer asked the Denobulan doctor.

"Unquestionably."

"Then you are wasting time, doctor. Lieutenant Reed volunteered." The harsh voice of their commanding officer allowed no argument. "Get what you need. I will prepare Lieutenant."

Archer indicated the Klingon diagnostic chair with a twitch of his head, already heading towards it.

Malcolm eyed the contraption doubtfully, but after an impatient glare from his commanding officer stepped up and sat in it gingerly.

The cold restraints encircled his wrists and ankles, pinning him in place with a sense of finality.

"Captain, I just wanted…" The bound man started carefully, wanting to express his sorrow over their circumstances and to apologize.

"Don't. You volunteered. Whatever is coming, you volunteered, remember?" Malcolm was harshly interrupted by the Enterprise's captain.

A dejected "Yes, sir," was the only answer he felt he could give in that moment.

"In addition to the virus, I am injecting you with a metabolic catalyst to accelerate your immune response. It will not be pleasant Lieutenant." The doctor warned him one more time, holding the hypospray ready.

He tightly nodded in assent, starting to feel a bit light-headed and offered his neck to the Denobulan.

Very soon after the concoction had been injected into his system, he could feel the first symptoms.

The slight sensation of pins and needles in extremities started to quickly morph into an acute pain there, spreading to his torso and reaching his head, incessantly pounding.

He started to sweat profusely, jerking the next minute spasmodically against the restraints.

The muscle spasms were morphing into full-blown convulsions little by little.

He could feel himself starting to wheeze, fighting for each following intake of breath.

He tipped over the edge into an abyss of pain, being cut off from his reason, starting to lose senses one by one.

He was dimly aware of strong, calloused hands holding him down, a hypospray at his neck again, drawing burning blood from him.

No relief.

His focus started to narrow down.

The breathing was getting harder by the second, every intake of breath like liquid fire and the sweetest water at the same time, scorching and satisfying.

He was dimly aware of an exclamation somewhere behind him, something about having the cure.

He knew that his body was producing the antibodies against the plague at a quickened rate, but there was still the plague in his body, replicating and eating him from inside out.

He realized with surprising clarity that this was it – that's where his life was going to end. He knew it with a visceral certainty that was so simple in its understanding.

He betrayed his captain.

And his captain decided that this was how he goes – in pain, and reduced to a lab tribble, deserving of every ounce of pain the plague could give him and then some. Beyond even the dignity of a painkiller to ease the way.

* * *

Phlox exhaled loudly, leaning his hands on the lab table in front of him.

The Klingon Admiral had called off the attack, they were free to go up to the Enterprise and start producing the anti-viral in bulk quantities for the afflicted population.

He turned from the table, noticed that Captain Archer was to the side of the room, intently talking to a communicator – no doubt planning their extraction.

His gaze fell to Lieutenant Reed, momentarily forgotten on the examination chair, still bound, ashen face slick with sweat and relaxed in unconsciousness.

Phlox crossed the room, intent on releasing the man from his restraints at least.

The Denobulan crouched down, carefully releasing the leg bindings and then the arm cuffs. The unresponsive body tilted forward onto him.

He slowly pushed it backward, gently slapping the Lieutenant's face with his hand.

"Wake up, Lieutenant."

There was no reaction whatsoever to the slap.

Phlox frowned.

That was unusual – unless the Lieutenant went into deeper unconsciousness than anticipated.

His sense of smell suddenly alerted him to the stink of human urine.

Phlox's heart and the elated smile froze at the same moment.

He quickly moved his hand to search for a pulse at one of the bruised wrists, and the other hand tilted Lieutenant's face to the light, opening one of his eyes to check on his pupils.

Bloodshot sclera.

No pupil reaction to light.

No pulse to be found.

"Captain! Emergency transport to Enterprise, now!" Phlox suddenly shouted in an urgent tone.

Archer whirled around, mentally ready to deal with the Klingons attacking his doctor, hand with a phase pistol going up to aim.

He froze when his eyes took in the sight in front of him.

Phlox was manhandling an unresponsive Malcolm from the chair, laying him down on the floor and tilting his head back. He started to administer the CPR.

"Captain, the transporter! Now!"

* * *

It was several hours after the anti-viral drug was dispensed among the colony population and negotiating with Krell was over, when Captain Archer wandered into the Sickbay.

He realized that he was worried sick about his Tactical Officer, not able to get the sight of Phlox resuscitating him out of his mind.

The pale, slack face was burned into his memory vividly.

"Doctor. How is Malcolm?"

The look he got from the usually cheerful Denobulan caused the general unease, he felt from the time they beamed aboard, to transfer into something far much uglier.

"Follow me, Captain."

Phlox lead him through the partition between the sickbay and one of the laboratories.

There was a shape beneath a blanket that was vaguely human-like on the examination table. Phlox took the blanket and moved it, showing the slack face of his Armory officer.

"He didn't make it. The plague went on replicating in his system, even though his body was producing the antibodies. The metabolism catalyst I injected him with caused the plague to procreate more aggressively than anticipated."

Phlox pulled the blanket over the slack face again to hide it from view.

"Captain. I heard what you said to him before I injected him with the plague. From what I managed to gather since returning onboard…I never took you for a cruel man, Captain." Phlox said quietly in the following silence.

The quietness of the room turned oppressive.

"I will be in the Sickbay, Captain. There are still patients that need me there."

The partition swished back behind him.

_Whatever is coming, you volunteered, remember?_ His own words rose unbidden in his mind, replaying with a clarity he did not want to face. Archer squeezed his eyes shut, biting on the knuckles of his fist desperately not to start sobbing in horror at what he did. _You motherfucker. You just told him that he deserved to die for what he did, no quarter granted,_ Archer strangled the ashamed moan before it had time to emerge fully.

His mind replayed the stiff face of his Chief Medical Officer. _I never took you for a cruel man, Captain._ Tears leaked from under scrunched eyelids, making their way down. He realized with anguish, that he might have saved the doctor and even the day, but in doing so, he invariably lost something much more valuable.

* * *

_Author's note: Thanks to all those, who keep reading this. Remember - reviews are keeping the Muse going!_


	13. Terra Prime

The Chief Tactical Officer and the Captain entered the turbo lift together, minds going at WARP 5, trying to think about where to find their mole.

Reed reached for the lift controls, intending to send them to the bridge.

The sound of whirring phase pistol stopped him in his tracks immediately.

He looked up, meeting the gaze of their traitor. Ensign Masaro was holding the phase pistol up, aiming it at the Captain, and visibly shaking. _Unused to dealing with adrenaline and to be under this much pressure_ , Reed's covert operative background supplied helpfully.

"Your pistols. Toss them away." Ensign Masaro stammered nervously, the muzzle wavering uncertainly.

"Malcolm. Do it." Jonathan Archer ordered quietly, his pistol clattering outside the turbolift.

Lips pinched with displeasure, Lieutenant Reed followed his superior officer's order. _This is bloody lunacy, God's dammit! No we are sitting ducks._

"You don't want to do this," Archer stared at the man holding them at gunpoint, trying to talk him down from committing something foolish and irreversible.

The Security Officer determinedly sidestepped his superior officer and stopped in front of him, effectively protecting the Captain with his body.

"Malcolm, step aside."

"Respectfully, sir, not going to happen. Not before the Ensign hands over the pistol."

The young man was staring at them with wide eyes, progressively more and more agitated. His shaking grew more and more pronounced by the second, pistol muzzle moving more and more erratically.

"Ensign, you heard Lieutenant Reed. Give him the pistol." Archer turned to the young man, trying to assert control over the situation again.

The man shook his head in clear denial.

"That's an order."

The young Ensign was virtually twitching with nerves by then.

One of the tremors transferred to the pistol's trigger.

Lieutenant Reed in front of Captain Archer grew rigid with pain and shock as the beam made contact.

Archer did not hesitate, however distasteful the whole thing was to his morals – he shoved the twitching man in front of him forward purposefully, using the body as a shield.

The limp body collided with the shooter, taking him by surprise.

Archer was immediately behind it, wrenching the pistol out of Masaro's grasp and using it to add momentum to his punch.

Masaro sprawled back, suddenly pliant in unconsciousness.

Jonathan Archer pawed at his thigh pocket by one hand, trying to get at the communicator there.

He used the other hand to turn over his Tactical Officer, kneeling next to him.

The gray eyes were full of pain, blood on his teeth.

Chest charred black and red.

"Sir?" Weak voice, accompanied by a fresh burst of bloody froth.

"Don't speak Malcolm. Save your strength. Masaro is out cold."

Finally, his hand found the elusive communicator.

"Archer to Phlox. Doctor, get to the lift next to my quarters. Masaro shot Malcolm in the chest with a phase pistol set on kill. Malcolm is still alive though."

"On my way, Captain." Came the curt reply, the ship's CMO sounding as if already on the run.

"Captain to Security. Masaro had been found. Get to the lift next to my quarters ASAP."

A hand weakly patted his knee.

Jonathan automatically grabbed it, holding it and trying to impart strength by the sheer force of his hold. The digits in his grip were cold and clammy. _Shock,_ he detachedly realized. He looked into the grey eyes, realizing that they were free of pain and surprisingly clear. He even thought that there was a satisfaction in them.

"It's fitting, Cap'n. This. Not sorry."

Reed smiled at him, teeth bloody and more red froth making its way from his nose.

"Malcolm. You have nothing to be sorry for." He whispered thickly, holding on the suddenly lax hand.

Jonathan Archer thickly swallowed, using his other hand to cup the dark-haired head tenderly, trying to impart in this last touch all the reverence and love he held for the dead man.

He heard steps coming, looking up through eyes swimming with tears and beyond caring at that point.

There were two men from Security, staring at their commanding officers, phase pistols drawn, but safely pointing towards floor.

Their eyes seemed riveted to the vacant grey eyes, staring beyond life now.

Masaro twitched minutely, a half-groan heard in the hush of the corridor.

Two phase pistols found their target simultaneously.

Archer stared at the body in disbelief.

"Do not worry. _Kapitan_. We stunned the piece of shit, nothing worse." Ensign Muller stated coldly, withdrawing a set of binders.

* * *

_Authors note: Well, here we are...this seems like an end. Hope you enjoyed your ride, people!_


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